


Manon's Child

by Amayha_Fan_Account



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Adarlan, F/M, Pregant, Pregnancy, Terrasen, manon's child, manonanddorian, the witch kingdom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:20:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29062734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amayha_Fan_Account/pseuds/Amayha_Fan_Account
Summary: After the war, everything has changed for Manon. All of her friends are dead and grief is eating her up inside. But then, she finds out she's pregnant and everything changes. Things with Dorian could be ruined, the witches are revolting -  what else could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien & Rowan Whitethorn, Chaol Westfall/Yrene, Elide Lochan/Lorcan Salvaterre, Manon Blackbeak/Dorian Havilliard
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

> Manon's POV
> 
> _'Live,' Asterin whispered. Even I didn't see the blow coming, but it did. I sank to my knees, gasping for air as Asterin reached Narene and mounted. 'Bring our people home, Manon."_
> 
> _I knew then._ _I_ _try to get up, but can't. 'No!' I gasp._
> 
> _My body, my mind screams at me to get up, to stop them, but I can't. I gasp for breath, watching them form in the skies, better and deadlier than they ever have before. I watch, helpless, as they spear toward the witch tower._
> 
> _I watch as they fall, one by one, screaming filling my head, heart breaking. I can't look away, not as they sacrifice themselves in front of my eyes._
> 
> _Then Asterin, fierce and beautiful, reaches the Witch-Tower, and I can do nothing,_ NOTHING, _as she flies through them like an angel of death, killing everyone in her path. She reaches my grandmother, blades still flying._
> 
> _Then they all erupt. Erupt, in white light. Every single one of my true friends, true family, yielding in white light._
> 
> _Yielding, and dying._
> 
> \-----------------------------------
> 
> I wake with a start. I'm in my tent, staring up at the dark walls. It is still night outside, and I can just see the glow of the full moon through the thick canvas surrounding me.
> 
> I lie silently, tears of grief running down my face. Every night, I see this, over and over again. There's nothing I can do. I stand, making no sound, and dress silently. I won't disturb anyone. There's no one left to disturb.
> 
> Now the Thirteen are gone, there's nothing left.
> 
> Not for me.
> 
> I slip out of the tent into the dark night night. The cold air hits me in a welcome rush. In the moonlight, I make my through the camp to the very edge, where the wyvern's are stabled. I was wrong, I realise, when I reach them. I still have someone left - Abraxos.
> 
> I stroke his leathery snout, and he huffs into my hand. I trace the scars on it, thinking about my own. I rest my head on his soft side, and he looks at me with worry in his eyes. I laugh.
> 
> Mother hen.
> 
> He twists his neck around, resting his head on my shoulder. "What am I going to do, Abraxos?" I ask him, but of course he has no answer.
> 
> The moment passes, and I step back. With a start, I realise the sun has risen, the witches awake and packing away the camp. We've travelled a long way from Terassen, but still have a while until we get to the Witch-Kingdom. We passed into the Wastes about three days ago.
> 
> There's a cough, and I spin around to find a young witch watching us. "What?" I snap, and the witch recoils a bit. Coward.
> 
> "Bronwen wants to know when we're leaving," the witch mumbles. She bows a little at the end, nervousness filling her scent.
> 
> "We're leaving in ten minutes," I say, plucking the time out of mid-air. I turn, and the witch scurries off, message in hand, glad to be away from the cunning scrutiny of her queen. Because I am her queen. I am the Queen.
> 
> I stride back through the active camp to my tent, packing it up in a few minutes, along with all my stuff. Then, I saddle Abraxos and climb onto him, and braid my hair tightly behind me.
> 
> On top of my mount, I watch the rest of the camp packing up behind me. I say nothing, thinking. When they're all finally ready, I flick Abraxos's reins and rise up into the sky, the mass of other witches rising up behind me like a wave.
> 
> We fly for hours, like we do everyday. When we land at sundown, even I am stiff in the saddle. I swing my leg over and slide off Abraxos, everyone e dismounting around me, starting to set up our camp for tonight.
> 
> We'll only stop for the night. We all want to get to the Witch Kingdom too much to dawdle. The only reason we even stop at all is to eat, sleep and relieve ourselves, and for wyverns.
> 
> Our campsite is behind a clump of massive rocks that provide shelter from the harsh winds that plague the Wastes. A small stream trickles past, almost completely dried up, but with enough water for us to restock our supplies. I stroke Abraxos now, de-saddling him, and wander into the camp of witches - my people.
> 
> This new responsibility weighs heavily upon me. I was always going to lead, but not this many people - not this fragile a people. There is barely any trust among us, our history of conflict getting in the way of our relationships. They are trying though. We are all trying.
> 
> The weight of responsibility has joined the grief in my heart and I feel like curling up and crying on the floor. I don't, but the urge is there.
> 
> Damn feelings.
> 
> I put up my tent in a few minutes, being used to it by now, and then stride through the camp, looking for the one person who might understand the mess I am right now. Although no one says anything, I can see them subtly moving out of my way, can feel them staring after me. I don't blame them.
> 
> I know what I look like. I know how pale my face is, how sick I look. I know what they're whispering about they're knew queen, and I. Don't. Care.
> 
> Not anymore.
> 
> Let them whisper.
> 
> "Glennis," I say, stopping behind my great-grandmother. She turns toward me, smiling though it doesn't reach her eyes.
> 
> "Manon," she replies. "How can I help?"
> 
> I open my mouth to demand something, but realise I don't know what I came here to say. Suddenly, Petrah and Bronwen rush up to us, the only Crochan and Ironteeth who seem to be getting along. "Manon," Petrah says. "You need to see this."
> 
> Glennis and I quickly follow as they lead us to the rocks we've sheltered behind, then up them, until we're at the very top. It provides a magnificent view, and we stare out at the Wastes, beautiful and harsh.
> 
> I fall to my knees.
> 
> There, on the horizon, wreathed in the light of the setting sun, lies the Witch-Kingdom, and in it, the ruins of the ancient but not forgotten Witch-City.


	2. Chapter 2

We reach the city the next day, landing on a field just in front of it. No, not just a field.

 _The_ field.

The field before the Witch-City, that has yielded nothing, no life for 500 years, yet is now full of it, full of grass and insects and -

Flowers. It's full of the little purple flowers that I placed on the Thirteen's grave.

I slide of Abraxos, coming to stand by his head. His eyes are filled with the same sorrow I feel, as if he too, recognises the flowers and their significance to me. To us. He lost his mate to the Valg, his only family, and I lost mine.

I turn around and find all the witches eyes on me. I am their queen, and I have led them to their home 500 years after it fell. The Witch-City behind me is in crumbling ruins, but I know we can rebuild it. I know we'll be able to turn it into a home worthy of us.

I realise they expect me to say something. "Witches," I start. "We have made it to our home at last. After 500 years of rivalry and bloodshed, we are back, and ready to start anew. Rebuilding efforts will start tomorrow. Tonight, we camp here." They nod, and I turn away.

Mechanically, I unpack the stuff out Abraxos' saddle, but leave the saddle itself on. Silently, I erect my tent, and everyone else departs, setting up their own. Everyone but Petrah, who remains watching me before finally coming over.

"Are you alright?" she asks.

"Yes," I reply brusquely. I don't need everyone looking after me. I climb back onto Abraxos, and continues to watch me.

"Where are you going?" she eventually asks.

"I'm going into the city," I say. Petrah looks like she's about to object, or offer to come with me. "Alone."

"You need rest too, Manon," Petrah says, still observing me.

"I don't need to be told what to do, Petrah," I say sharply, warning in my voice. Abraxos begins to walk underneath me.

Petrah shrugs behind me. "If you insist." Then, she turns away, disappearing into the ever growing camp.

Abraxos takes off toward the Witch-City, and I welcome the cool air that rushes into my face, clearing my mind a bit. We fly silently to the ruins, Abraxos darting over them as we go deeper into the once-great city. I watch them impassively as they pass underneath us.

The city is rubble. There's no other words for it. Only a few half crumbling walls still stand, weeds and trees covering most of the rest of it. Abraxos lands in the very centre of the city, in what appears to be a market square, or something similar. I slide off him, and in the eerie silence of the dead city, walk into the very heart of my ancestral home.

I look around me, watching the birds and other animals that now inhabit this place. It's as if no one has been here since it fell. To be honest, they probably haven't. I slowly turn in a circle, assessing further the damage inflicted here, when something behind me brushes me lightly, and I spin around to face it.

There's a rock in the very centre of the square; how I didn't notice it before, I don't know. It's jagged, and points to the centre of the setting sun. Moss grows over it, and a few mushrooms. At the very top of the rock, a single purple flower blooms. It's identical to the ones in the field in front of the city.

A wave of emotion hits me, and I suddenly can't take it anymore. I sink to my knees as an overwhelming amount of grief hits me. Grief for my Thirteen. Grief for their deaths. Grief for the fact that they're not here now, by my side, as they should be.

I sob shamelessly for them, in the middle of the square. The sound of it echoes around the empty space, and I am glad there is no one but Abraxos there to witness it. My wyvern comes over to me, nuzzling me, sorrow and worry in his eyes, but he can do nothing to numb the pain that now over takes me.

"Asterin," I sob into the empty air, "Sorrel. Vesta. Faline, Fallon. Edda, Briar, Thea, Kaya. Lin, Ghislaine, Imogen. Why did you have to die?"

Abraxos can do nothing for me as I sob at the bottom of the rock, overtaken by grief.

"Manon."

My breath catches.

"Manon."

It's Asterin's voice. I look up, and they're all there. They smile at me, and I let out another sob, tears streaming down my face. Trying to gather my wits, I stand, but can't stop the tear flowing down my face.

"Manon." Asterin comes forward, the rest of the Thirteen still there, but hanging back.

"Asterin," I gasp. I basically throw myself on my cousin, embracing her tightly. I step back, wiping my eyes. "But - you're dead.*

"Yes," Asterin says gently. I look around me at all the Thirteen. They're slightly glowing, but otherwise look exactly the same. Asterin's face falls slightly. "We don't have long."

"How are you here?" I ask, no longer crying, just in shock.

Asterin doesn't reply, just smiles. "We may not be alive, Manon, but we'll always be here for you. We're always watching you."

Sorrel nods, stepping forward and touching me arm. "It's been nice to see the Witch-Kingdom with you, Manon."

"If only once," Vesta says, smiling. The Shadow's nod in agreement.

"Even if you can't see us," Edda says.

"We're here for you," Briar finishes.

"You don't need to grieve us," Thea says.

"We gave up our lives for you, Manon," Kaya agrees.

"We left you to _live,_ Manon," Lin says.

"We had to die to save you. Save everyone," Ghislaine says.

"We knew what we were doing, Manon," Imogen agrees.

Asterin steps up to me. "Manon, without our sacrifice, you would all be dead. Don't deny it, you know it's true. We knew we wouldn't survive going out there, but we did it anyway. We did it for you, Manon. Because we love you."

I push down on the sob that threatens to escape my throat, fresh tears filling to my eyes. They start to fade away. "No!" I reach out to them. "Can't you stay a little longer?"

"We have to go Manon," Asterin says, smiling sadly. One by one, my Thirteen disappear again, until only Asterin and Sorrel remain.

Sorrel smiles. "You'll make an excellent High Queen, Manon," she says, and then she, too, disappears.

Only Asterin remains. She takes my hands in hers. "Please, Asterin," I bed "Don't leave me again. Don't leave me alone."

"You're not alone, Manon," Asterin says, and great sadness fills her eyes. "Good luck with your new family. Your new life."

And then she, too is gone, and I am alone but for Abraxos, sobbing in the ruins of my broken kingdom.


	3. Chapter 3

I awake curled up under Abraxos' wing, his body a wall of warm leather beside mine. I am still in the Witch-City, on the old stone floor by the rock. I must've cried myself to sleep after the Thirteen left.

I shiver. Everything is silent here, in the dead of night, but won't be for long. Soon, this city will be alive with the sounds of rebuilding. Soon, but not yet. For now, complete and absolute silence.

I slide out from under Abraxos' wing, stretching in the freezing air. My body is cramped. I approach the rock again, staring at the lonely flower on top, thinking over the events of last night, and the Thirteen. Maybe they were right. I'm not alone, just surrounded by a thousand people who don't know anything about me.

I stare at the flower unblinking, until my sight starts to blur. Only then do I notice. The beautiful flower has twelve petals. One for each of my lost friends. I feel tears starting to return, but push them back. I've had enough of emotions for one night.

I turn to where Abraxos is sleeping, one leathery wing still tucked over the space where I was curled up. I want to crawl back in there and rest until dawn, but I know I can't. Instead, I wander through the ancient streets of my city, through the tumbled down alleyways and ruins of old houses, and wonder what this place would have been like 500 years ago, before the war so thoroughly wrecked it.

I keep on aimlessly wandering until I reach the very edge of the Witch-City. Here, the wall surrounding the city is even more ruined than anywhere else, mere piles of rubble. Here, there is just a gap in the wall where towering iron gates should have been. Here, the silence is so profound it hurts my ears. Here, the ground is blasted in the same way as where the Thirteen died.

For it is here that Rhiannon Crochan, the last High-Queen fell.

I don't walk any further than that, just stand before the blasted bit of earth.

I can see the camp from where I stand. Fire burns starkly against the starry night sky, tents silhouetted against it, as clearly as the few witches on watch. My people.

I stand there for along time, silently, the wind blowing my hair over my face, until the sun starts peaking over the horizon. I am a queen now. I have lands, and people. I have responsibility.

Asterin was right, I am not alone.

Just lonely.

\--------------

I fly Abraxos back to the camp just after noon, having spent the morning exploring and assessing the city in daylight, seeing how bad the damage truly is.

It's bad.

No one says anything about my absence last night, though I can feel questions burning beneath Bronwen's tongue as I walk up to her and Glennis's fire. Instead, she just nods to me as I sit down beside it.

There's something cooking over the top of it, and I serve myself as a wave of hunger hits me. I eat everything in the bowl quickly, then more, before turning to my companions, who are watching me silently.

"I assume you spent the morning assessing the damage on our city," Bronwen says, also serving herself some food.

"Among other things," I shrug.

Glennis is watching me as though she knows exactly what those 'other things' were. As if she knows about the Thirteen, and that I spent the night crying. It makes me uncomfortable, so I snap, "What?"

"You're eating again," Glennis says nonchalantly. I don't reply, not feeling inclined to talk.

There's a moment of silence, then Glennis asks, "How bad is the city, Manon?"

"It's been in ruin for 500 years," I reply. "It's bad."

Glennis nods. "I thought as much."

"We should start by clearing away some of the rubble," I continue, the food clearing away the fog in my head left by my lack of sleep last night. How have I eaten so little, for so long?

"How long do you think that'll take?" Petrah asks, appearing from somewhere in the camp.

"A while," I reply cryptically. Truth is, I don't know. It could take anything from a week to a few months, and rebuilding could take years. "The damage is extensive," I continue. "We'll have to turn this camp into something more permanent whilst we rebuild. We need to organise into two groups, and we can start the rebuilding efforts after lunch."

When I look up, they're all staring at me strangely again. "What?" I snap.

"Nothing," Glennis says, and they disperse, following the orders from their queen.

A few hours later, I lead the first few covens into the Witch-City. I decide that we'll work from the inside of the city out, starting in that square. I order them to leave the rock where it is, as a final tribute to ancient Crochans.

We work tirelessly all day, moving rubble and de-weeding the city. We try to stabilise it as much as possible, leaving standing structures intact. If a clumsy witch happens to knock one over, I snap at them. I am irrationally tired, my temper even shorter than usual.

When night eventually falls, I lead the witches out of the ruined city. We have cleared most of the rubble away in the very centre of the city, but gliding over it on Abraxos' back, I realise we have actually covered very little. If we really want to get this done quickly, we're going to have to work much harder and faster than we did today.

The camp now looks much more permanent, I realise, as I soar over it. They've set up a training arena, several smaller fire pits and eating areas, and a stable for the wyverns.

Abraxos and I land by said stables, and I take his saddle off, leaving him there to do his own thing. I don't need to tie him up - it's not like he's going to fly away. He's loyal

I am too exhausted to do much more than eat as I sit around the fire. I ignore all conversation, yet again demolishing my food before standing and going back to my tent. I haven't said a word.

I change out of my leathers as soon as I get into the tent. Exhausted as I am, I think I'm going to fall asleep as soon as I collapse onto my bed, but I don't. Instead, I lie tossing and turning, until I drift off about midnight.


	4. Chapter 4

_I'm hovering above a battlefield. I am invisible, yet I can see everything. No one else can see me, but I am watching them. Where am I?_

_There's blood on the battlefield, so much it stains the ground blue. The air is alive with witches on broomsticks, locked in a deadly battle. On the ground, fighting is still rampant, but the floor is mostly littered with witches, bleeding, dying, dead._

_The sky is dark with witches and storm clouds. The fighting in the air is more intense than that on the ground._

_Three people stand in the centre of a hoard of Crochans. The Ironteeth Matrons. I look toward the Witch-City, and see it as it was 500 years ago, in the middle of the Witch Wars. The walls are stained with blood, and standing at the gates, fighting fiercer than even the Queen in the North, is Rhiannon Crochan, the Last High Queen. Pain and fear haunt her tired eyes._

_As I watch, one of the matrons breaks away unnoticed from the others. I cannot tell which - I know that I know at least too of them, but 500 years younger, I can barely recognise them. Holding my breath, I watch the battle commence._

_This is the fight that resulted in us loosing our homeland for 500 years. And, somehow, I am watching it all, powerless to do anything, though I know how it'll end._

_The Matron continues to make her way over, unseen, to Rhiannon. Only when she gets close enough to touch Rhiannon do I realise that I'm not watching this from the start. No, I am watching Rhiannon's death._

_I open my mouth to warn Rhiannon, to shout or something, despite knowing it's helpless. They can't hear me. This is ancient history._

_No, no, no, I think, watching in horror as the Matron gets closer, her hunched figure hidden by the piles of Ironteeth bodies surrounding Rhiannon. The Matron's claws shine with blood as she creeps ever closer, until -_

\------

I awake in a cold sweat. My hair is a messy tangle at my back, and my clothes are sticking to me. I lie, almost paralysed, staring at the roof of my tent, until a wave of nausea overtakes me, and I lurch out of the tent.

I don't vomit. Once the nausea subsides, I stalk straight to the stables. Abraxos is waiting for me, worry in his eyes as if he knows exactly what just happened. In the still night of the crescent moon, I stroke leathery head, breathing in the cool night air.

When I no longer feel quite as shaken, Abraxos follows me down to the small stream that runs through our camp, and I kneel down by the silvery water, splashing my face.

I watch the ripples subside, and when the water is smooth again, I look at my reflection. My face is pale and wasted, and there are purple bags under my eyes. My hair is dishevelled. I look exhausted.

I _feel_ exhausted.

Abraxos comes up behind me, sticking his leathery head over my shoulder. We sit there for a while, peacefully, then, after a moment, I stand and climb onto his back. There's no saddle, but I don't need one. He flies up into the moonlit sky, dancing with the stars until sunrise.

When the sun does start peaking over the horizon, I turn Abraxos around and we glide back to the camp, touching down on the outskirts. Then, I organise my people into two large groups, putting Bronwen and Petrah in charge of one and taking the other myself. I lead them into the city where we work until midday, when we swap with the other group. Even immortals get tired eventually, especially after fighting a massive war.

In the afternoon, I train and train until I'm sweating and exhausted. Then, I exercise Abraxos, flying until nightfall, when the other group returns.

As food is cooked and eaten, Bronwen, Petrah and I sit around the leaping bonfire and talk. Mostly about the future of the Witch-Kingdom, but also about rebuilding. I don't say much, leaving them to do most of the planning, only intervening when necessary.

Again, I eat enough for about three people, my hunger strangely unquenchable. Occasionally, the other two glance at me strangely, to the point I snap again. However, my sudden burst of anger passes the next second, and when they look at me next, I just smile viciously instead.

After I finish eating, I stand and depart, heading back to my tent. Once there, I change out of my tight, practical leathers and into something softer for sleeping.

A sudden urge for human contact hits me, and I pull the covers on my bed tighter around me. With a start, I realise I miss Dorian. Being so busy, I haven't even given him a passing thought in a few days, so my random need for him now...

I turn over, worming deeper into my covers. It's just cold, that's all. I don't really need Dorian - or want him. I am strong and independent, a survivor. Most importantly, I am the Witch-Queen, one of the most powerful beings in centuries.

I don't need anyone.


	5. Chapter 5

A week passes. Every night, I have the same, strange dream, and every night it ends moments before the Matron slaughters Rhiannon.

On the evening of the last day of the first week, Bronwen, Petrah, Glennis and I sit around a brightly blazing fire. The city is clear of old rubble and debris, and our progress is much quicker than expected, to everyone's relief. Today, we were clearing away the last point still covered in rubble - Rhiannon's grave.

Every single witch had been silent while working there. Not one word as uttered. At the end, we each lay a single purple flower down on her grave, a silent thank you to her and everyone else who died in the Witch-Wars, and a prayer for a better life.

Tomorrow, we'll be able to reassess the damage on the Witch City, and decide how and where to start rebuilding first.

The moon is high in the sky, and only the four of us remain awake, talking quietly around the fire. I am in a surprisingly good mood, despite my backache from moving debris today. For the first time, I am optimistic about the future of my kingdom. "Tomorrow," I say, placing my empty bowl on the ground, "I will take a few covens into the the Witch-City to see how many of the ruins are repairable."

The others nod in agreement, recommending their own covens and others to help me. As the night grows later still, Bronwen and Petrah get up and leave. As they depart, I can see a spark of what humans and fae call excitement in their eyes, and wonder if the same spark lies within my own. Glennis and I are left alone around the fire.

We sit in contented silence for a moment, then Glennis says out of the blue, "You are doing an admirable job, Manon. Not many other witches would be able to handle this scenario as well as you."

I look up and nod my thanks, not sure of what to say. I stand, but a wave of dizziness hits me and I am forced to sit back down. Glennis is regarding me strangely, like she has been the past week.

"Just remember, Manon," Glennis continues, "It is alright to feel differently about things than others around you, and it is alright to ask for help, if and when you need it. Don't be afraid to put more pressure on other people's shoulders. Bronwen and Petrah are dying for more responsibility." She pauses, and I stare at her in shock. I open my mouth to say something needlessly snarky, but Glennis continues, "I know you are grieving your coven, Manon, and I know it's hard to trust us when you know barely anything about us, just as it was hard for us to trust you. I just ask that you will."

I sit in shocked silence, all words dead on my tongue as I stare at my great grandmother. Before I can say anything, she rises. "I am going to retire now," she says. "I suggest you do the same. You have a long day tomorrow." She pauses, glancing down at my scraped-clean bowl. "You are eating a lot lately. It's almost as if you're eating for two." Without another word, she turns and leaves.

I sit at the fire for a while after that, turning her words over in my head, but eventually it gets too late even for me, and I rise and go back to my tent.

When I strip off my clothes, I notice my stomach is very slightly raised. Maybe Glennis is right, I am eating too much.

I lay down on my bed. I fall asleep immediately, and dream.

\------

_I watch in horror as the Matron creeps closer and closer to Rhiannon, unnoticed. Rhiannon is distracted by all the other witches she's fighting_ _._

_As the last witch falls, the Ironteeth Matron leaps upon Rhiannon. She notices a moment too late, twisting away from the Matron before the blow becomes fatal. With a start, I realise that the attacking Matron is Baba Yellowlegs. I am watching the last stand of Rhiannon Crochan._

_I am watching her death._

_The blow that would surely have been fatal instead lands on Rhiannon's side as she spins away. She sinks into a fighting stance, and the Matron, growling about the missed blow, does too. I hold my breath, watching tensely._

_The ensuing fight is like one I have never seen before. It is the deadliest, fiercest thing I have ever experienced. At times, it seems as though it will be Yellowlegs, not Rhiannon, that will fall, but she always spins back with faster attacks. Although she holds her ground at first, it becomes clear how exhausted Rhiannon is. Her blows become sloppier and her focus decreases as the first light of day starts appearing over the horizon._

_When the bottom of the sun is finally in line with the horizon, the killing blow is landed. Rhiannon, exhausted from three days and nights of non-stop fighting, is struck in the heart. Baba Yellowlegs strikes true, her nails shooting through her chest. Rhiannon falls to the ground, her blood pooling around her._

_News of her death spreads like wildfire. The remaining Crochans cry out in grief and terror as they are slaughtered one by one. Advancing over the mounds of the dead, the Matrons, with a final cry of victory, tear down the wall._

_But as the Matrons go about destroying the city, they don't notice as Rhiannon stretches out a vengeful hand. They don't hear her as, with her final breaths, Rhiannon Crochan, Last High-Queen of the Witches curses them._

_"Blood to blood and souls to soul, together this was done, and only together can it be undone. Be the bridge, be the light, when iron melts, when flowers spring from fields of blood -"_

_It is then the the Matrons, triumph written all over their faces, notice. Colour drains from their faces, but they're to late._

_"Let the land be witness," Rhiannon continues. Her breath comes in shallow rasps. "And return... home."_

_The last word is barely more than a whisper, but it is enough. Rhiannon sticks her hand into the bloodied earth, finalising the 500-year curse. The world explodes in light, and all three Matrons are thrown backwards from the force of Rhiannon's Yielding._

_When the dust clears, all that remains is a mark._

_It matches the one at the Thirteen's grave._

_\-------_

I stare at the roof of my tent in shock, reeling from the dream.

That was how Rhiannon died.

I stumble out of the tent and vomit into a bush. It's still dark out here - I can't have been asleep more than an hour, yet it feels like weeks have passed. I am shaking, covered in a cold sweat. At least now the dream is finished, and I truly know what happened to my ancestor. That knowledge answers questions I didn't even know I had.

When I stop shaking, I go to Abraxos' stables. He immediately looks up when he hears me approaching, and his eyes fill with worry.

Mother hen. Silently, I saddle him up, flying quietly out to the Crochan city.

Abraxos and I land just before Rhiannon's death site. I slide off him, telling him to wait whilst I walk into the centre of the blasted earth. Then, I kneel and pray.

When the sky starts to lighten, I rise. I have never prayed so much in my life, although I have never really been one to pray. I turn to walk back to Abraxos, feeling oddly cleansed.

"Manon."

I freeze. I know immediately who it is. Slowly, I turn.

There, standing before me, is Rhiannon Crochan.

I don't know what to say. "Rhiannon Crochan."

"Hello, Manon," she says. Looking at her is like staring into a mirror. We are almost identical. "My heir. You have done well to lead my people here so quickly."

"Thank you," I bow my head. "Why are you here?"

Rhiannon looks me up and down assessing my. "There is a long road for you on the horizon, witchling. Danger can and will stir in the most unlikely of places."

I watch her, thinking. "Is that why you showed me the Witch-Wars? A warning?"

"Indeed," Rhiannon says. "But also a reminder. You will have to be very strong, Manon, to further unite our peoples."

"I am strong," I reply without thinking. I have no doubt about it, though. I am one of the strongest people I know. "And I can and will lead my people through any hardships."

Rhiannon's face softens ever so slightly. "I have no doubt about it, Manon. You are my heir for a reason. Trust yourself."

"I do," I insist, but even as I say it, I wonder if it's true. _Do_ I trust myself?

Rhiannon sighs, as if she can hear my thoughts. "Remember, trust your allies. The Queen in the North and the King in the South are young, but strong. Make the right choices, Manon, and you will be one of the strongest Witch Queens in history."

"I already am," I reply, without thinking.

Rhiannon smiles gently, for the first time. She starts to fade, like the Thirteen before they, too left. "I trust you, Manon. Your people trust you. You will make an excellent High Queen. And mother." Without another word, Rhiannon is gone.

The sun is breaking over the horizon, but I am frozen in place.

_You will make an excellent High Queen. And mother._

Something Asterin said suddenly strikes my mind. _Good luck with your new family._

At the time, I had been too grief stricken to take in her words. I'd assumed she just meant living with the Crochans, but what if...

Glennis's words from the night before come back to me too. _It's almost as if you're eating for two._

I've thought it myself, but...

It's impossible. There's no way I could be -

But there is. Memories flood back to me, all proving true what can't be, _mustn't_ be happening. The worst thing is, it makes sense. All the symptoms I've put down to grief are proving this...

_And mother._

_And mother._

_And mother._

I am pregnant. With Dorian's child.

I sink to my knees.


	6. Chapter 6

**Bronwen's POV**

When Manon storms into our camp a few hours after dawn, I know something's wrong. Her face looks just like her sisters used to whenever she got angry.

I banish that thought from my head quickly, not wanting to compare Manon to Rhiannon.

Manon's been acting differently from when I first met her, anyway. She's pale and quiet and not at all the fierce witch I thought she would be. I assumed it was just grief from her friends dying, but today, something's different.

Maybe she finally found out she's pregnant. Everyone can smell it on her. Well, everyone but her. She's completely oblivious.

She storms into our fire, pale as death, anger burning in her golden eyes, She's in travelling clothes, her bags full of food and provisions strapped to Abraxos's back.

Glennis stands immediately upon seeing her, as do I. "Manon," she starts, worry in her voice. "Are you -"

Manon cuts her off, and she's unable to finish her sentence.

"I am going to be gone for a while," she says, sounding much more like the confident, strong witch I thought she would be when I first met her. "Do not follow me." She turns as if to leave, but then stops, remembering something. "I place Bronwen in charge." That surprises me, but I don't object as she walks off, back to us. She stalk towards her wyvern. We all watch in silence as she and the beast disappear over the ever brightening horizon.


	7. Chapter 7

**Manon's POV**

Abraxos and I travel quickly across the barren land, the few people who live out here pointing and staring as they see a witch streak past. We fly fast without anyone else to slow us down. I push my poor wyvern to his extent, only stopping the next dawn for rest.

I slide off Abraxos and set up my small tent and a fire with the few provisions I brought. Abraxos collapses on the hard earth almost immediately, sleeping before he's even lying down. I feel bad for pushing him so hard, but I need to speak to Dorian. Now.

Everything makes sense. All these symptoms, all these damn emotions and all the food I've been eating, the lateness of my bleeding, which I haven't even noticed until now. But something else is also very clear.

My anger at Dorian.

My felling towards this, towards him, have been changing the whole journey here, but now I know for sure what I feel. I feel unending, irrational anger towards that bastard. How dare he do this to me! Especially after refusing my proposition of an alliance!

However angry I am at Dorian, those feelings do not extend to the witchling growing inside me. No, I already love this child more than anything else in the world, and it hasn't even been born yet. Though it is unexpected and I should have liked to bear it after this mess has been sorted out, witchlings are rare and sacred, and I wouldn't get rid of my child for the world. So, yes, I am angry, so angry at Dorian, but I love my baby more than anything else.

I spend as little time resting as I possibly can, though I make sure Abraxos is fit to travel before we leave. I restock on food and water before flying again at noon. I want to - _need_ to - get to Adarlan as quickly as I can.

I am going to scream in Dorian's face exactly how I feel, damning the consequences.

\---------------------------------

When I finally reach Adarlan, my anger has almost disappeared completely. I seem to have finally found my head, and no longer want to scream in Dorian's face. Although, yelling a little might be nice.

Abraxos and I soar over the rebuilding city. The city guards spot us immediately, the crest on their uniforms shining proudly in the midday sun. Every eye and arrow are upon us as we alight in the massive castle grounds.

I look up at the proudly standing castle. It looks largely the same as I saw it last, but a few wings including a rickety looking turret are being repaired and rebuilt. I identify one of said wings as Dorians room, blasted in from the battle with the witches.

When I killed Iskra Yellowlegs's second.

Ah well. They're both dead now.

I tear my eyes away to focus on the guards now rushing towards me and Abraxos from all directions. "Surrender your weapons," one of the guards shouts. I refrain from telling him that I don't need any weapons. I am one.

As the guards continue to hostilely rush at me, I realise, despite his promise that I would be welcome here, he hasn't told them about me. I don't know why I expected he would. I guess I just thought after his promise before I left he might've warned them. I don't know why it hurts as much as it does. 

The guards form a tight circle around me, and I smirk at them, willing violence into my eyes. "No thank you," I say, "I don't think I will."

For a moment, the guards all gape at me in shock. I assume they don't get much cheek from woman, especially not ones that fly on wyverns. In fact, I doubt they've ever seen a wyvern before. You would think they would be scared when faced with a giant scaled beast. I don't understand humans. I start to walk toward them, making as though to slip through their tight ranks. They all spring into action, rushing at me as I laugh. I in need of a good fight.

I wait until the first guard is right behind me, letting him think I haven't noticed him, before I spin round, iron nails and teeth out and gleaming, swiping for his face. I don't actually hurt him - that's not my aim at all. I just scratch his face, barely drawing blood. It feels good to have my iron nails out again, unsheathed for once. I pull Wind-Cleaver out from across my back, swiping at multiple guards at once.

Suddenly, I notice one headed for Abraxos, a net of sorts in his hands, trying to capture him. How dare they!

I spin my way out from the group I'm fighting, sneaking up behind the guard before sliding Wind-Cleaver across neck. I don't harm him, just threaten.

"Don't touch the wyvern!" I whisper harshly into his ear, before sliding my sword away engaging some other, lazier guards in the beautiful art of bloodshed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Dorian's POV**

The one good thing about being King is that no one can tell me what to do. Only thing is, they can.

I sit on my bed in the temporary chamber that I'm in while my old ones are fixed. I'm reading, devouring the pages of my book in one of my few moments of free time. I've ordered no one to disturb me, but I have no excuse they'll find one in a minute or two.

It's like as soon as I think it an urgent knocking sounds upon my door. I sigh, closing my book and standing. The knocking becomes more insistent.

I open the door, not bothering to put on more formal attire than the blue trousers and loose white shirt I've been reading in. A wide-eyed, out of breath guard stands there, panting.

"Your majesty," she gasps out, panting as though she ran all the way up here. "There's an Ironteeth witch fi—"

I don't let the guard finish her sentence before I gasp "Manon," and rush past her, sprinting towards the castle grounds where she'll no doubt have landed with Abraxos. Servants and courtiers alike rush out of my way as I sprint through the castle towards the entrance and Manon.

I've missed her so much. I've spent every waking moment dreaming about her, especially in the boring court meetings, thinking about how she would laugh their silly customs. I dream about her too. About the burning gold of her eyes. About the elegant sway of her moon-white hair when she walks. About the feel of her perfect body on mine, in a mountain range surrounded by Crochans. I never thought, not in my wildest dreams, that I would see her again so quickly. I thought-

I stop dead. My mouth falls open.

She is in a group of guards, _my_ guards, fighting them in a whirlwind of iron and steel. I gape at her in horror. What the hell?

I snap out of my momentary shock, striding towards them, King again. "Guards," I command, and they pull their eyes off my witch for a moment, awaiting orders from their King despite the fight. Manon stops too as she notices me. "Guards, stand down."

Obediently, they do, backing away slowly from Manon. Some of them are wounded, their blood dripping of Manon's nails. Manon, on the other hand, doesn't have a scratch on her. She stands at Abraxos's head, smiling at me like all hell is about to break loose. It probably is. Slowly, I approach her, wondering what the hell could have caused this.

"Manon," I say, my voice coming out much weaker than I'd wanted. I sound shocked more than anything. "I - what the hell are you doing here?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, _your majesty,"_ Manon says sarcastically, mock bowing. I've done something to piss her off. I definitely have. "I didn't realise I wasn't allowed on your precious property."

"Manon, I - " I start, shocked. Suddenly, a wave of anger hits me. What have _I_ done? I haven't even seen her since Terrasen. My face hardens "You can't just come in here and start brutalising my soldiers. I -"

"I never killed one of your precious soldiers." Manon's face turns from a smirk to anger in less than a second, and she opens her mouth to say something, but I interrupt her.

"Oh really? Then how come they're -"

Manon growls menacingly, loud enough to cut me off. She stalks towards me. "First of all, Princeling."

\--------------

**Manon's POV**

I stare at Dorian. I wasn't planning on getting mad, but after he had the audacity to blame _me_ for this —

"First of all, Princeling," I growl, stalking up to him, getting right into his face. "How dare you blame me for this! Your guards -"

"My guards are perfectly well trained, and have done nothing wrong," Dorian interrupts smoothly.

I fume. "Oh really? Your guards started attacking me from the moment I landed. I came in _peace_. I thought I was - _you said_ I was welcome here. Obviously not."

"You are welcome, Manon," Dorian says, guilt creeping into his voice. "But not if you make my guards bleed."

"If your guards weren't so lousy they wouldn't get hurt," I snap harshly. "They call themselves Guards and yet they can't even defend their precious King from one Ironteeth witch."

"Manon, I - I'm sorry," Dorian deflates a little. It fills me with irrational anger that he so easily relents.

"You should be," I yell, jabbing my iron claws into his chest. Some of the blood wipes off on his white shirt, stark against the plain colour. He takes a step back. "You should be begging for my forgiveness."

"Manon, just tell me what I've done, and I can fix it. I -"

"FIX IT!!!" I shriek. Dorian winces. "You, Princeling, can't _fix it._ No one can _fix it._ Because you, Princeling, cannot go back in time and change the past. You cannot take back now what you put in me a month ago, and most of all you caNNOT KILL MY WITCHLING!!"

I scream the last words in his face, tears staring to amass in my eyes, for some reason. One slips free, but I flick from my face. I glare at him, my iron teeth bared in a feral growl. "No matter how much magic you possess, Dorian Havilliard," I whisper fiercely, "You cannot take the child from my body that you put there."

"Manon, you're pregnant?" Dorian says, shock written across his face.

"Yes, thanks to you," I say. Another wave of anger hits me. "I hATE you. How dare you do this to me!"

With that, I turn away from him, suddenly crying, and jump onto Abraxos' back.

"Manon, wait!" Dorian calls, chasing after me as Abraxos takes off. "It's my child too!"

I don't reply, pretending I can't hear him as we swiftly fly away.

\---------------

** Dorian's POV **

I stare after Manon in shock, watching her fading silhouette disappear over the horizon. There's blood from her nails on my shirt, enough that it looks like I was injured, though I'm not. I can do nothing but stare after her, frozen.

"Your Highness?" One of the guards approaches me from behind, and I spin around. He notices the blood on my shirt, and his eyes widen. "Your Highness, are you injured?"

"No, I'm fine," I reply, straightening my shirt. "Return to your posts now." I almost say please on the end, but have to catch myself. I am King now, and everyone keeps telling me manners make my authority weaker. I'm not sure I believe them.

The guards bow and they all disperse back to their posts. I start walking back to the castle to change my shirt and sort out the mess in my brain, still in shock. People stare as I walk past, but none approach.

I am going to be a father.

That is, if Manon lets me anywhere near the child when it's born. I'm guessing not, given her reaction to even getting pregnant. How long has she known? How long has she kept this from me? And if she has known for a while, and decided previously not to tell me, why tell me now?

I am still slowly walking towards the palace when Chaol sprints out towards me. It makes me so happy that he can do that. He skids to a halt in front of me. "Dorian," he says, panting for breath. "I heard Manon was —" He notices my bloodied shirt and shocked face. "Gods, Dorian, did she hurt you? Are you alright?"

"Manon didn't hurt me," I say, barely able to from the words through my frozen brain.

"Then what's going on?"

"Chaol, I -" I stutter, unable to put my thoughts into words. "I - Manon's pregnant. I might be... a father."

"That's amazing! Congratulations, Dorian!" Chaol peers around me as though looking for Manon, expecting her to be there. When she's not, he peers back at my face. He frowns. "What's the matter? Isn't that good news?"

"Manon also wants to rip out my heart." The full force of what's just happened slaps me in the face, and I stagger forward in shock. "Oh my gods, Chaol, what have I done?"


End file.
